


It's Just

by LizaPod



Series: It's Just That [1]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, FINISH HIM, M/M, Manipulation, bitchface, don't flatter yourself, sex without relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizaPod/pseuds/LizaPod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike is tired of Harvey acting like he couldn’t find his own dick with both hands and a map. He's a grown man, goddammit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Just

**Author's Note:**

> This is the man who got a job by outsmarting the cops and then calling a room full of strangers douches while carrying a briefcase full of weed. He is not a delicate flower.

Mike Ross is young.

He’s not naïve. He’s not virginal. He’s not  _pure_.

He’s a grown man and a former pothead fraud of a lawyer who hasn’t been pure, virginal, and naïve since he was 14. 

He knows what he wants, and he knows how to get it.

What he  _wants_  is for Harvey Specter to stop treating him like some kid who couldn’t find his own dick with both hands and a map.

What he  _wants_  is for Harvey to stop acting like all the innuendoes and flirting are going right over his naïve, young, skinny-tied head. 

How to get  _that_  to happen is to make Harvey follow through on some of that goddamn innuendo, and  _that_  is going to involve three things Mike knows Harvey likes: expensive liquor that’s outside of Mike’s budget, showing Mike how much more successful and more awesome Harvey is than him, and blowjobs.

It’s mostly the last one, but the first two are prerequisites for the last. 

Harvey takes Mike back to his loft to gloat after taking some random thought Mike had and turning it on its head to win a case while sticking Mike with paper work he  _knows_  Mike doesn’t know how to do. 

“It’s not funny,” Mike informs him after the third time Harvey brings it up. He’s been ordered to pour the bourbon-  _three hundred and fifty dollar_  bourbon that’s almost as old as he is- like a secretary or a waitress, not an associate. “It was sort of funny the first time  _I_  said it. It was almost funny the first time you said it. It’s not anymore.” 

“Do we have to have yet another talk about you interrupting me?” Harvey says, looking for all the world like the king of smug, attractive douchebags on his throne of douche-iness. Mike is tempted to splash the overpriced bourbon on Harvey’s crotch when he hands it over, but that would foil his diabolical scheme. “For someone with an eidetic memory, you’re not very good at remembering things like that.” 

“That’s because  _eidetic_  means I remember what I read,” Mike mutters into his glass. He doesn’t manage to look quite as imposing in Harvey’s spare chair as Harvey does. The bourbon puts the cheap swill he gets at the cheap bar near his cheap apartment to miserable, crying shame. At least Harvey’s stopped picking at him for his suits. “It doesn’t mean I remember everything you say.” 

Harvey gestures expansively with his already-empty glass. Mike knows he’s indicating the loft, the view, the liquor that costs more than Mike’s bike, and Mike himself. And then he gestures with the empty glass that Mike should refill it. “You should start remembering  _what I say_ , or you’ll never have this.”

“What, a brilliant associate who very generously lets me borrow his ideas and refills my glass on command?” Mike polishes off his own glass like it is cheap swill and returns to the wet bar as ordered. 

“Ha, ha.” There’s a slither of silk behind him, the sound of a very expensive tie loosening. “You wouldn’t know what to do with any associate, kid, let alone someone half as smart as you.” 

Mike lets the bottle and glasses clatter more than absolutely necessary while he’s refilling. Harvey snorts, like he’s thinking that Mike is unsettled by the innuendo, by the tone in his voice. He lets him keep thinking that, lets his eyes slide away from Harvey’s when he hands the glass back over. He sits back in his chair when Harvey leans forward with his collar opened- just the top button, just as calculating when he’s disheveled as he is fully dressed. 

Harvey knows he’s attractive. He knows how he looks to other people and how to make an effect on someone. Mike knows this because he’s watched Harvey do this before, to women in bars and to him in the office, in the loft. It’s supposed to make him flustered. It’s supposed to distract him. It’s not going to work this time. 

“And you do know what to do with an associate like me, Harvey?” he asks, staring down at the golden booze. The sound of Italian leather shoes on hardwood flooring shuffles forward, and Harvey taps their glasses together, and walks to the window to survey what he probably thinks of as his kingdom.

“Better than you ever could.” 

“Then why don’t you?” Mike smirks into his glass.

“What?”

“Why don’t you do something with me?” 

“What do you  _want_ me to do with you, Mike?” Harvey probably thinks he’s being smooth, with that tone that he uses on his skinny, breasty waitresses and other firms’ associates. He probably thinks he’s making Mike swoon with the way he’s caressing his name. 

“I want you to sit back down in that ugly chair and let me blow you until your balls turn inside out,” Mike says matter-of-factly, like he’s reciting the morning’s brief. The unmistakable splatter of bourbon on glass is satisfying on a deep, probably slightly twisted, personal level. “And then, maybe, if your dick is as big as you seem to think it is, I want you to fuck me.” 

Harvey’s choking-on-bourbon noise somehow manages to be more satisfying than the splattering. 

“Unless you don’t want to,” he adds, in his most innocent voice.

“Uh… Mike, I’m flattered, but…” Harvey turns. He’s still wiping liquor off his face. 

“But I thought you knew what to do with me.” Mike tries not to look like he’s enjoying Harvey’s stunned expression. It really is hard work. He’s  _really_  enjoying it. Harvey downs the bourbon he hasn’t already spit or choked on. 

“If this is some play to get a better cubicle, so help me God I will choke you with that heinous skinny tie.” 

“Scouts’ honor,” Mike says, holding up three fingers in what he thinks might be the Boy Scout Salute. “This is all about cock and proving you wrong.”

Harvey doesn’t look convinced. “Ross. I’m serious. What are you doing?”

“Offering to suck your dick.” He pauses, mostly for dramatic effect. “And then maybe to let you plow me. The aforementioned plowing is contingent on the size of the blown party’s cock, however. And whether or not the blown party sits his ass back down in that godawful chair and lets me blow him.” 

Mike watches Harvey’s mouth open and shut like he’s a stoned goldfish for what feels like forever but probably is only a few seconds. He wonders if this is what Harvey feels like  _all the time_ , because it’s a pretty awesome feeling. 

“I’m not  _gay_ ,” Harvey says, but he’s two steps closer than he was a few seconds ago.

“I’m not either. Sort of. A little. It’s a person-by-person basis,” Mike says, and points at the chair. “It’s just sex, Harvey. Actually, it’s just  _head_.” 

It’s like being reassured that getting a blowjob from a dude won’t make him start singing show tunes clinches it for Harvey; he crosses back to sit in the douchebag throne and sprawls open. “You know that this violates about half a dozen codes of conduct, right?”

“You know that you can just kick me out now and I’ll only think you’re kind of a cocktease, right?” Mike pulls his tie off and loosens his collar. “It’s not like my entire career is violating the code of conduct or anything.” 

Harvey snorts and smirks, an expression Mike is more used to seeing on his face than the stoned goldfish look of gay panic. “Point made.”

“Now am I going to blow you or are you going to pussy out?”

“You’re the one who’s stalling now,” Harvey says, and waves vaguely in the direction of his crotch. Mike slides onto his knees- the floor is cold even through his suit trousers- and is confronted with the evidence of Harvey’s reluctance. It’s nothing he can’t deal with. Harvey seems hesitant to touch him while he undoes the layers of clothing separating him from Harvey’s dick. He’s down to black silk boxers when he gets sick of seeing Harvey’s hands fidgeting.

“Dude, what would you do to a girl?” he asks, even as he silently judges Harvey’s underwear. He’d been unaware before that underwear could be douchey. Harvey’s hand finally settles on the back of his head, hesitant at first and then heavy. Mike pulls at the band of Harvey’s boxers and exposes his flaccid dick. At least he’s confirmed that Harvey’s swagger isn’t overcompensating, like Louis has previously implied. And he  _manscapes_ , which surprises him… actually, no, no it really doesn’t surprise him. 

Mike pauses long enough to figure out what the best plan of attack is. Apparently he waits too long because Harvey’s hand pulls his face forward until he’s nose-to-balls.

“No wonder you can’t keep girlfriends around that long,” Mike mutters, but takes that as his cue. He mouths at Harvey’s balls, smelling sweat and old soap, and is pleased with himself when Harvey groans. Blowing a guy is pretty much the same whether or not he’s Mike’s boss or his boyfriend or just some dude in a bar (eating girls out, too, girlfriend or hookup, the basics of oral aren’t that different); it’s just the details that vary from person to person. Harvey won’t be any different, once he’s hard. 

Mike goes slowly, but he’s not putting on a show for Harvey. He’s not trying to impress a first date or sell a hookup on coming home with him, he’s getting Harvey off. This isn’t the time for porno tricks. When Harvey’s actually hard,  _finally_ , Mike sucks him down. Not like a pro, he’s not a pro and never has been, despite what Trevor has implied, he’s just good at this. Harvey’s fingers dig into the back of his skull and he grunts when Mike swallows. 

“Shit, that, that again,” Harvey orders, pushing at Mike’s head like he thinks it’ll make Mike listen better. Mike does  _that_ again, which really wasn’t anything impressive, but maybe Harvey’s waitresses aren’t any good at head. He shifts on his knees for a better angle- Harvey’s stupid furniture is shit for this, the fancy ergonomic chairs at the office would be better- and bobs on Harvey’s dick. 

Efficiency is the better part of valor in this case. Mike drags his tongue over the head of the dick in his mouth, wraps his hand around the spit-slick shaft. Harvey is getting into it, like he’s freaking out less and getting off more. Mike steals a glance. Harvey’s face during sex is not nearly as composed as it is when he’s not getting his dick sucked. Actually, his expression is sort of ridiculous. 

Mike likes it, though. He’s not going to deny that Harvey’s hot, but the whole unflappable always-put-together god of lawyer thing he has going isn’t really Mike’s thing. This scrunched-up-eyes, twisted-mouth Harvey that actually looks like he’s enjoying something other than winning- like he’s enjoying something Mike is doing- is way more appealing. It makes him want Harvey to actually  _want_  this. 

It makes him want to want Harvey.

Harvey’s hand curls around the back of his neck at the same time that Mike wraps his hand around his dick. He shivers, just a little, when Harvey’s fingers catch on his collar. It’s an involuntary reaction to contact, to touch, not any sort of indication of  _feelings_. Harvey’s fingers brushing at the hair on the nape of his neck are sending short bolts of down his spine towards his balls. Mike has a feeling he’ll be jerking off back in his own tiny shower later; he’s been single for a while and Harvey’s cock in his mouth and his fingers in his hair are reminding him of what he’s missing out on for this job. 

The job-job, not the blowjob. All he’s missing out on for this blowjob is a couple hours of shitty reruns and some cheap booze.

When bluntly manicured nails dig into his neck and stuttered profanities hit his ears, Mike gets sloppier, faster. He slurps around the head of Harvey’s dick. The urge to yell  _FINISH HIM_  hits him, for about a second, until he remembers that this is not the dorms and Harvey probably wouldn’t appreciate the timing the way Trevor and Isaiah did. Or he might, but not in relation to his own finishing. It’s hard to tell with Harvey sometimes. 

“Mike.  _Mike_.” Harvey’s hand in his hair tightens. He tugs at Mike’s head, like he’s trying to be a gentleman and not come down Mike’s throat. Mike ignores it. He keeps sucking until Harvey’s hips push up- once, twice- and he comes with a guttural, gravelly moan. 

Mike pulls back from Harvey when he’s done coming and reaches for Harvey’s discarded, empty glass to spit into. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Harvey’s already tucking himself away at Mike’s eye level, and when Mike looks up he’s met with the first confused expression he’s ever seen on Harvey’s face.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Harvey says hesitantly. Mike tries not to smirk as he rocks back onto his heels and then up to his feet. 

“Not really. Well,” Mike pauses and runs his clean hand through his hair to push it back into place. “You can stop treating me like a little kid. And stop flirting with me if you’re not gonna follow through. But other than that, no, it doesn’t change anything.” 

“I’m not your boyfriend or anything.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type.” Mike grabs his discarded tie and puts the glass of spit and come and dregs of bourbon on the wet bar. He clears his throat and straightens his suit jacket absently. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Harvey doesn’t manage to make any complete sentences before he reaches the door. Mike lets himself smirk after the solid click of the door latching shut behind him. It’s awesome having the upper hand every once in a while.


End file.
